


Lucky

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Finally A Case, Jealousy, John's Luck, M/M, Slightly Different Series 1, no cases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: As Sherlock tries to get taken seriously as a consulting detective, John seems to have hit the jackpot in terms of luck.





	1. John's Luck

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's Sherlock, though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them.To keep up with our new stories, please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

Perhaps offering to help Mrs Hudson do her shopping wasn’t the smartest idea John had had that morning. She slipped two more bags into his arms and then said, “Thanks for carrying all that.” She turned quickly and called out, “We need to stop at the kiosk before we go.”

She stepped up and the older man behind the counter greeted her with recognition. He slid her a pack of twenty cigarettes and then asked, “Lottery? Feeling lucky today?”

Mrs Hudson quickly secreted the cigarettes into her handbag and then turned to John. “What do you think? Shall we get a ticket as a treat?” she asked. “We can share the winnings.”

John smiled. "Sure. Do you want to do random numbers or do you want to pick them?"

“Oh, I don’t know -- I hardly ever play,” she lied. “You pick for me.”

John set the bags down and considered a few numbers before picking, shading in the choices, before passing the ticket to the man. "I hope I'm lucky for you," he told her. 

“I’m sure you will be,” Mrs Hudson said, handing the guy some money. “You have been since you’ve moved in.” 

She took one bag, John picked up the rest, and they started to walk home. “Everything going alright with Sherlock?” she asked him. “He’s not taking advantage of you, is he?”

"I don't think so," John said. "I can hardly keep up with him. He’s trying to get some cases."

“Well, he gets that way sometimes,” she said. “As soon as things get steady, he’ll be happy -- or at least as close to happy as he gets. He’s so clever . . . I hope someone will see that and hire him.”

“I see it," John said. 

“I know you do,” she said. “Just don’t let him take his impatience out on you. He doesn’t always choose his targets wisely.” She stepped up to the door to unlock it and held it open for him. “Thank you for your help, John. I really appreciate it.”

"Anytime," he said. He helped her take the bags into her flat before heading up to his own. 

“Where have you been?” Sherlock called from the kitchen. “I’ve been worried sick.”

"How nice of you," John said, going into the kitchen to make some tea. 

Sherlock quickly grabbed a second mug from the cupboard. “I made you this cup of tea,” he said, dribbling the recently boiled kettle into the cup. “Here you go,” he said, sliding it over to John. He took the one he’d made for himself to the table and sat down. “So where have you been?” he asked.

"I helped Mrs. Hudson with some shopping she had to get done," John said. He sipped the tea Sherlock gave him. 

“Did she get anything for me?” Sherlock asked.

"No," John said. "If you wanted a present, you should have helped, too." He smiled over his mug as he took another sip of tea.

“I help all the time,” Sherlock said, deciding to make a claim without any evidence whatsoever. “Actually, I thought you’d offer to help with cases if needed -- how is that going to work if you just disappear without letting me know where you are?”

"You disappear on me all the time. I wasn't far, you could have called me," he said. 

“I was shouting your name for twenty minutes!” 

"Hmm. The most observant detective doesn't realise I left the house, what does that tell you?" he asked. He finished his food and got up to clean the plate.

“You’re being needlessly unkind,” Sherlock said, pulling a sad face before getting up and moving to his desk. He opened his laptop even though he didn’t have anything to work on.

"I'm only stating facts. That's what you always do," John said. He came back into the sitting room and peeked at the computer. "Anything good?”

“No, nothing at the moment,” Sherlock said. “I’ve been watching the newspapers, but the police claim they’re solving things on their own. Which I find hard to believe.” He closed his laptop and stood up. “I’ll be in my room. At some point I will emerge. If you go out before I do, if you could at least let me know, I would appreciate it.”

John looked over his shoulder and saluted Sherlock as he disappeared into his room. He turned the television on to keep him company.

Hours later, Sherlock emerged and found John was still here. “I’m bored,” he said, flopping into his chair.

"I know," John said. "What do you want to do?"

Sherlock thought for a moment, but before he could answer, though, Mrs Hudson burst into the flat. “Privacy!” he shouted at her.

She ignored him. “John!” she said, moving over to the sofa. “We won!”

“What? What are you talking about?” Sherlock asked.

“We won some money on the lottery,” Mrs Hudson said. “John is my lucky charm,” she added, giving his arm a squeeze.

“The lottery is a tax on the gullible,” Sherlock humphed.

“It’s fun,” she replied. She turned to John. “Let’s do something fun with the money and exclude him.”

John smiled. "Excellent idea,” he said. “I was just trying to think of something fun to do."

“Four hundred pounds can buy us a lot of fun,” Mrs Hudson said.

Sherlock turned to look over. “You’ve got extra money, but you didn’t get me a present at the shop?” he asked.

Mrs Hudson frowned and got up. “You are such a baby,” she said and handed him the pack of cigarettes.

“Thank you,” he said, sitting up. “Now how are we going to spend our winnings?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she said. “John and I won. Not you.”

John grinned. "I picked the numbers and Mrs. Hudson bought the ticket. You should’ve come to the shop with us."

“I wasn’t even invited!” Sherlock pouted. “Fine,” he said. “You enjoy yourselves on luck money. I prefer income I worked for.” He got up and headed to his desk before realising that was useless. “I need tea,” he stated and went to the kitchen.

John watched him go, smiling at Mrs. Hudson. " You can choose anything you’d like to do. I'm not picky," he told her. 

Mrs Hudson pretended to think for a minute. “Let’s go get something nice for dinner,” she said. “With a bottle of wine.”

"A nice bottle of wine," John said. "That's a good idea."

“Let’s go now,” she said. “I’m sure Sherlock can fend for himself for food.”

“I’m not listening,” Sherlock said as he returned with his tea.

John closed his laptop and stood up. “Let’s go -- I'm hungry."

Sherlock watched them get up to go. “If I’m working when you get home, don’t disturb me,” he said needlessly. Everyone knew he had no work to do, but that detail didn’t matter to his point.

“I know, Sherlock. See you later," he said as he grabbed his coat and headed out with Mrs. Hudson. 

Sherlock moved to the window to see if they really were leaving. He watched them get into a taxi and drive away. Annoying.

He found a book to read and lay down on the sofa, but it wasn’t long until he got bored. He got up and moved to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Then he’d remembered they were out of bread.

_I want a sandwich but there’s no bread. Weren’t you just at the shop? SH_

_We don't need bread, there's a loaf in the freezer. -JW_

Sherlock opened the freezer and there was a full loaf of bread. He put two pieces in the toaster, glad he had found it but still a bit annoyed. After he finished his sandwich, he made a cup of tea and went into his room.

John found a fancy restaurant on his phone. After they cashed the ticket they went to dinner, getting an expensive bottle of wine. They talked about Sherlock and the flat and John’s search for work. Mrs Hudson talked about her own dating drama and told John stories about her ex-husband. 

It wasn’t long until Sherlock was agitated again. It was strange -- before John moved in a few months ago, Sherlock had always preferred being alone. But now it seemed that Sherlock actually liked being with John -- yes, sometimes he was frustrating, but overall things just seemed better when John was around him. He picked up his phone.

_Are you ever coming back? SH_

_We're taking a short walk before we get a cab. Soon. -JW_

That didn’t seem good enough for Sherlock, but he had no choice here. He picked up the cigarettes Mrs Hudson had bought him, and he grabbed his coat to go out and walk around for a few minutes to have one. The smoke burnt his lungs a little -- since John had moved in, he’d been smoking less -- but it also felt good. When he finished it, he went back in and put the kettle on, boiling enough for three cups, just in case.

John hailed a cab and they headed home. He saw the lights on upstairs and, after leaving Mrs. Hudson and thanking her for sharing her winnings, he headed up quietly in case Sherlock was working. 

“Well, that was a waste of an evening,” Sherlock said when John came in.

"I'm sure it wasn't," he said. 

“You left me with nothing to eat and no work to do . . . just to go out partying with your friends,” he added, committing to the pout despite knowing it was ridiculous.

"Please don't be so dramatic," he said. "I don't control crime in London."

“I only invited you to move in because I thought you did. You’re lucky I’m still willing to tolerate you.”

"I am lucky," John agreed. "Mrs. Hudson proved that."

“Right, forgot about that,” Sherlock said. He poured himself a cup of tea. “I’m going into my room now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He disappeared into his room.


	2. John's Charm

In the morning, Sherlock heard John moving about the flat and came out.

“Morning,” he said. He noticed he was on the computer. “Have you found something for us to work on?”

John actually had been looking and had found an article about a robbery at an art gallery. He read it out to Sherlock and asked, "What do you think?" 

Sherlock sat down next to him, moving John’s computer onto his lap to read it over again himself. “The police should’ve contacted me about this.”

“You’re right,” John said. “But it sounds promising -- why not solve it and rub it in their faces?” 

Sherlock slid John’s computer over and got up and moved to his desk. He spent some researching and then stood up. “I’m going out,” he said.

"Alone?" John asked. "Are you going to the art gallery?"

Sherlock glanced over at John. “Yes,” he said. “You can come if you’d like.”

John nodded and got up to get ready. "I want to come."

“All right then,” Sherlock said. “Get yourself ready.” He went into the bathroom to do the same.

John got dressed and brushed his teeth, coming back down to meet Sherlock. 

They headed out, taking a taxi to the gallery. Sherlock was quiet on the ride, thinking about the potential answers to his questions and what they would mean to the next step of the solution. He was going to solve this and show Scotland Yard he could be trusted.

When they arrived, Sherlock led them inside. He approached a woman standing near a piece of large art. “Do you work here?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “What do you think of this piece?” she added, turning to the painting.

“It’s ridiculous,” Sherlock said tersely. “I’d like some information on Strattenburg piece you had stolen.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m investigating the theft,” he said.

“The police have already been here,” she said. 

“I’m aware,” he said.

“If you’re not police, why are you asking? You an art lover?”

Sherlock’s brain shifted quickly. “Yes, actually,” he said. “I’m a collector -- it’s actually possible the painting was a forgery.”

“It was not,” she said.

“Yes, it was,” he said stubbornly.

“No, it wasn’t,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re playing at but you’re not police and you’re not a collector -- if so, you’d never use the word ‘ridiculous’ to describe a work by the greatest living painter. If you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do with my time.” She moved away from them.

"Hold on, sorry," John said, moving in front of Sherlock. He smiled at the woman and looked at her a bit sheepishly. "Don't mind him. That was just a test -- we're just looking into the security system, but before we get to the technical stuff we wanted to see how you would handle suspicious behavior." He smiled again, leaning a bit closer. 

"Oh. Did I pass?" she asked, smiling back. 

John smiled wider and nodded. "Can we look around? We don't want another robbery," he said. 

"Of course. It was awful," she said, launching into details of the crime. 

Sherlock watched John and listened as the woman spoke. At one point he started to ask a question, but John shot him a glance and he kept silent. The next question John asked was the one Sherlock had wanted the answer to -- was he reading his mind somehow? Unlikely, but whatever John was doing seemed to work.

When John realised they were close to blowing their cover -- and Sherlock finally stopped trying to inject questions -- he wrapped things up and they left the gallery. When they got onto the pavement, Sherlock pulled out a cigarette and lit it before he said anything. Without looking over at John, he said, “That was useful” before exhaling into the sky.

John shrugged. "I just got lucky," he said. He smiled over at Sherlock. 

“Right,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. “Regardless. So I’m heading to the security company -- you’re tagging along?” he asked.

John nodded. "Of course," he said. 

Sherlock stopped to search his phone for the company and then grabbed John’s arm and led him out into the traffic, crossing over and through a maze of streets. Before they opened the door, he said to John, “Shall I handle this one?”

John waved Sherlock forward. "Be my guest," he said. 

Sherlock stepped up to the desk. He pulled his spare police ID from his pocket and flashed it. “We need the records from the Norbury Gallery. Last two weeks, please.”

The young man looked up from his phone and said, “Sure.” He typed a few things and a printer began making noise. “Footage as well?” he asked.

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. He glanced over at John.

“Right,” the man said. “Back in a moment.” He disappeared through a door.

Sherlock stepped behind the desk and opened its drawers. Nothing looked unusual. He pulled the sheets from the printer.

The man returned. “Here,” he said, handing Sherlock a flash drive. “Did my boss say all of this was all right?”

“He did,” Sherlock said. “He’s a very helpful man. Can I get your name, please?”

“Lawrence.”

“Lawrence, I’ll be sure your employer finds out how useful you were to our investigation,” Sherlock said. “We’ll be back if we have further questions.”

He turned and they left. “It appears I still have some detective skills,” he said. “Let’s head home and solve this case.”

John grinned. "I never said you didn't," he said. "I'll order takeaway for dinner while we work."

“All right,” Sherlock said. He lifted his hand for a taxi. “You can pay for this ride with your lottery winnings,” he said with a smile as a cab pulled up.

"What? Those are Mrs. Hudson's," he said.

“I thought your charm was responsible,” Sherlock said. 

“She said I was a lucky charm, not charming.” 

“Well, I thought you were also charming until I noticed how quickly you turned on me last night,” Sherlock said. “It was cruel.”

"You were in a mood," John said. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “At least you were useful today,” he said.

"Just today?" John asked, looking over at him. 

“A few other times as well, but particularly today,” he answered. “How long do you prepare to keep it up?”

John rolled his eyes. "I guess you'll let me know," he said. 

Sherlock looked out the window for the rest of the ride.


	3. Sherlock's Frustration

Once they arrived home, Sherlock set to work on the printouts, having given the flash drive to John. After a while, a noise escaped from Sherlock’s throat. looked up at John. “See anything?” he asked.

John shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary so far."

Sherlock raised his arms in a stretch. “I need to make a phone call,” he said. “Want to order the food? I’ll take my usual.” He headed into his room and rang his brother.

Mycroft greeted him with an annoyed “What is it?”

“I’m working on a case,” Sherlock said. “I have a few questions.”

“Is this someone’s lost dog or are you checking on a cheating husband?”

“I don’t do cases like that . . . anymore,” Sherlock said. “This is a crime I’m solving.”

“Very fancy,” Mycroft said sarcastically. “And you’re calling because you think I’m a suspect?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “I might if it’d been a bakery, I might have, but it wasn’t. It was art.”

Mycroft was quiet for a moment. “The Strattenburg?”

Sherlock was pleased he’d trusted his instinct and called his brother. “Yes,” he said. “What do you know and how do you know it?”

“The owner contacted us,” Mycroft said. “He assumed it was going abroad and it turns out he was right. We stopped it at the border and the painting is in our custody.”

“I see,” Sherlock said, even though he didn’t quite understand. However, he knew enough not to ask his brothers for details. “Do the police know?”

“I don’t believe they do,” Mycroft said. “In fact, perhaps you’d like to present it to them? Then you could get the attention you crave.”

Sherlock frowned. “It’s not attention I want,” he said. “It’s respect . . . for my work.”

“If it makes you feel better to call it respect, fine,” Mycroft said. “I’m happy for you to take the credit -- it means nothing to me.”

“Who stole it?” Sherlock asked.

“No idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we were only interested in finding the painting and we did.”

Sherlock was both confused and annoyed. “Well, I’m going to find the thief,” he finally said and ended the call.

When he left his room, John was gone. He heard his footsteps on the stairs and he appeared a few minutes later, food in hand. He grabbed some forks and met John in the sitting room. “How much do I owe you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” John said. “It was free.”

“What? Why?”

"I was their 1000th customer -- the dinner for free," John said. 

Sherlock shook his head. “You’re ridiculous, John Watson,” he said. 

"Why? That's what the guy just told me!" John said. 

“I can see your face -- you are seriously believing you’re on a lucky streak, aren’t you?”

“You have to admit . . .” John said, passing him his food.

Sherlock rolled his eyes before taking a small bite. “Well, at least I’ve found the painting,” he said.

"You did?" John asked. “How?”

Sherlock thought for a moment. Telling him his brother was actually the one who’d found it ignored the fact that Sherlock was the one who’d realised international theft had been an option. “I figured it out,” he said instead. “I don’t need luck.”

“I knew you could do it,” John said.

Sherlock looked over at John’s face. It seemed genuine and that made him feel nice. “How is the job hunt going?” he asked, changing the subject.

John took a big bite of food and tried to chew quickly so he could answer. "Slow. I haven't checked my email today, though. I will after we eat."

“You’ll still want to help with any cases, though, if you get a job, right?”

"I should be able too. I’m just looking for part time," he said. 

They finished eating and John did the washing up. He put the kettle on and then went to get his laptop, opening his email and skimming through the Inbox. After a minute he gasped. "Sherlock! I’ve got an interview tomorrow!"

Sherlock wasn’t sure what his reaction should be -- he knew John wanted work and the money would obviously help him. However, a job for John would mean he’d be around here less and he really didn’t want that, but for some reason he felt he shouldn’t say that aloud. So instead he said, “I suppose you’re interpreting this as your luck again,” he said.

“Definitely,” John said, grinning widely.

“It’s not. Your skill got you that interview -- it wasn’t chance,” he said, his voice more serious than he’d expected it to sound.

John’s face warmed as he wrote down the details.

Sherlock watched John, focused on the laptop. Then he stood up and poured himself a cup of tea. “Thanks for dinner. I’m going into my room now,” he said before disappearing.

John watched Sherlock go, wondering if he was upset about something. But Sherlock was always running off like that so John put it out of his head. He tidied up his things and went upstairs to his room. 

Sherlock spent most of the night working. He wasn’t finding much useful in terms of who took the painting. He finally fell asleep, wondering if this was a waste of his time after all.

In the morning, he got up early and grabbed his cigarettes and a cup of tea and went to the window.

John woke up with his alarm and got into the shower. He dressed himself in a nice suit with his favourite tie before coming back down to the kitchen to get some tea. "Good morning," he called to Sherlock. 

Sherlock looked up. “You look fancy,” he said, quickly stubbing out his fag.

John lifted his travel mug in thanks. "My interview is today," he said. 

“I know,” Sherlock said. “Well, I’ve not found our guy yet, but as soon as I do, it should be relatively simple to finish this up.” 

"Right -- well, let me know when you’ve sorted it," he said. He got his jacket and was halfway out before calling to Sherlock, "Wish me luck!" 

Sherlock looked up and gave John a smile. Maybe some people needed luck, but one thing Sherlock was certain of was that John Watson was a good doctor. 

John headed to the surgery where he was having his interview. He walked inside and saw a lobby full of patients, and in a short row of chairs a couple people dressed up like he was. He sat down beside the woman in the middle seat, offering a polite smile before looking through his resume for something to do while he waited. 

"So you're my competition, huh?" 

John looked up at the woman. "I suppose so," he said. 

"I graduated top in my class, you know. Maybe you want to leave now?" She smiled and turned a bit more towards him. 

John turned as well. She was very pretty and had a warm smile. "I'll take my chances," he said.

"You seem confident, that's a good quality," she said. "How about whoever gets the job buys dinner?"

John smiled wider. "Alright. But that could take a few days. How about dinner tonight? I'll treat and if you get the job, you can owe me."

She smiled wider and agreed. They made small talk until each of them were called in for their interview. The woman was shocked at John's experience, unsure why he wanted to work in a simple outpatient surgery. He didn't get into the details of his injury, but his answers seemed to be enough. He felt good about the interview and about the job. He wished the woman luck, handed off his number, and left. 

Sherlock spent the next hour skimming through the video they’d gotten from the security firm before noticing that a segment was missing -- whether that was an error on young Lawrence’s part or a clue, he wasn’t sure. However, Sherlock was certain that the answer wasn’t going to appear on film. Whoever did this was more clever than that. It had to be an inside job, so he tried to find information on Charles Altamont, the owner, but he wasn’t coming up with anything. That didn’t seem right. He got up and dressed himself for an afternoon of investigation. He didn’t like not knowing, of course, and he still wasn’t quite sure who or what he was looking for, but he found himself heading down to the street with a smile on his face. He loved the process and had no doubt he’d find the solution soon.

John picked up lunch and came home to find Sherlock was gone. He sat in his chair and ate a sandwich. He was digging out his phone to call Sherlock when it started ringing in his hand. Assuming it was from the surgery he picked it up, and in a way he was right. It was the woman he'd met in the lobby. Her interview had gone all right but not great -- which was good news for John. They talked for a few minutes and then made plans for that night. 

By early evening, Sherlock had not found his answers. Reluctantly he headed home. Perhaps he could talk the whole thing through with John as that often helped him see things he couldn’t see on his own, though he wasn’t quite sure he wanted John to know that.

John got ready for his date, made sure he had cash on him, and moved through the flat to go. He bumped into Sherlock on the stairs. "Oh, hey," he said. "I'm just heading out, did you solve your case?" he asked. 

“What? No -- where are you going?” Sherlock asked, stopping in his tracks.

"I have a date," John smiled. 

“When --” Sherlock started and then stopped. “Right,” he said instead. “I’ll be working. I’ll see you . . . at some point.”

"Let me know if you find anything," John said. "Or need anything. See you!" He moved around him.

“How was the interview?” Sherlock called, but John was out the door. He climbed the rest of the stairs and went into the flat.

He decided to have a cup of tea before getting back to work because, in all honesty, he didn’t really know what to do next. He had no real contacts abroad to check on the man. His brother did, though, and the fact that Mycroft hadn’t offered them meant that his brother truly believed there was nothing there, and Sherlock knew that in circumstances like this he could trust his brother’s position. Perhaps he should just give up.

Yet he hated leaving puzzles unsolved, and he was certain this was a puzzle. He sat down on his chair and stared out into the flat which suddenly seemed entirely too quiet. He used to love that quiet, but now it seemed wrong somehow. And that, of course, was because of John.

Sherlock thought about how John had changed him in ways that no one knew. Perhaps even John was oblivious to it, but Sherlock knew it. He didn’t want to think about that now, though. Yet he really couldn’t think about the case anymore right now. Why did John have to go out tonight of all nights? If he were here, Sherlock could talk to him about what he did and didn’t find and somehow it would’ve helped him find his answer. He was sure about that, but John had ruined it. When did he make this date anyway? He’d told Sherlock about the interview, why had he kept the date a secret?

It was all annoying him too much so he turned on the television just to have some sound to try to distract him.

John got into a cab and picked up his date before they headed to the restaurant. They talked about the job interview and their work at first as they broke the ice, moving into more personal things like their families and backgrounds as the night went on. She was easy to talk to and John found himself laughing a lot as they talked. 

It wasn’t long before the sound of the television began to drive Sherlock mad. He felt agitated. Then he felt angry. He’d needed to talk to John, he’d wanted to talk to John, but John wasn’t here to help. He picked up his phone twenty times, but for some reason, he set it back down twenty times as well. John knew about the case and still he’d gone out. He was making his priorities very clear, and that annoyed Sherlock.

He retrieved a cigarette and smoked it, not even bothering to open the window. Although he knew logically that the nicotine was actually stimulating his nervous system, he started to calm down a little. Why was he having such strong reactions to John the past few days? Was it just because he was struggling with this case -- was he just taking it out on the nearest person? Obviously, it could be just that, but Sherlock was sure it was something more.

He just liked having John around. That was unusual, yes, but it was painfully true. In truth, when John would talk getting a job, Sherlock had deliberately thrown out distractions to keep him from any attempts. But now it seemed that John had still been applying and now he’d probably get a job and would lose interest in working on cases. Worse yet, he was out on a date which meant he was losing interest in being at home with Sherlock as well. Sherlock no longer felt agitated or angry or even calm. He felt sad.

John offered to get them a taxi, which pulled away from the kerb to head to his date’s place. He got out to walk her to her door. They shared a quick kiss, and he could tell she was pausing to give him a chance to follow her out. He politely ended the evening, thinking about the case Sherlock was working on. He realised he didn’t really know where Sherlock was with it, and that was very odd. He felt left out all of a sudden, which he hadn't felt in a long time. Instead, he asked her out for tomorrow and walked back to the cab, which drove off again towards his own flat.


	4. Sherlock Tries His Luck

When John got home he called out for Sherlock, moving around the flat. He'd seen Sherlock's coat, so he knew he wasn’t out somewhere. He moved to Sherlock's bedroom, looking at the door. He'd never bothered Sherlock here before. He knocked softly. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock was lying on his bed, holding a book he’d hoped would distract him from his frustration, both about the case and about John. “Come in,” he said, pushing himself to sit up.

John walked in, looking all around. He'd never been in here before. "I'm home," he said pointlessly.

“I see that,” Sherlock said. “You just stopping in to grab something or are you in for the night?”

"I'm in. I wanted to ask you about the case," he said.

Sherlock thought for a moment. “I wanted to ask you about the interview,” he said.

John's brows raised very slightly in surprise. "Oh. It was good -- really good. I'm over qualified but I hope that won't hurt my chances. I think I'm going to get it," he said. 

Sherlock was looking at John’s face. It seemed happy. “Can I ask you something?” he said quietly.

"Anything," he said, leaning on the door jamb.

“Are you still glad you moved in here?” 

"What? Of course I am," John said.

“Okay,” Sherlock said. “I am too. I don’t know if I ever said it, so I thought I would.”

"Oh. Okay," he said. 

“Did you have a good date?” Sherlock asked sheepishly.

"Yeah, she was nice," he said. "I met her at the interview -- she was interviewing too," he added. 

“Right . . . does that mean you’ll be seeing her again?”

For some reason, John shrugged. "Maybe," he said. 

“Well, you’re probably tired, so . . .” Sherlock shifted on his bed awkwardly. “We can talk about the case tomorrow.” He felt like his brain was too full of John to even remember anything about all that right now.

It felt awkward now, so John said, "Okay. I'll let you rest.” He backed out and shut Sherlock's door. He went up to his own room to get ready for bed.

Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He knew he was feeling something or many things, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was feeling rather than thinking. He didn’t like it, he never had. He closed his eyes and just felt for a few minutes. Then he sat back up and decided to think instead.

John had changed so many things in his life. That he (and everyone else) knew. One of those things was that he occasionally made Sherlock feel. Thus far, that had been mostly all right because the feelings were usually pleasure -- pleased when John listened, proud when John helped. Tonight’s feelings didn’t feel good. These felt pretty bad actually.

Tonight Sherlock felt worried and jealous and a little bit sad. John was making him have these feelings, and he needed to figure out what to do.

John got into bed and pulled the covers up as he shifted to get comfortable. He thought about the conversation he just had with Sherlock -- maybe he must be annoyed with him for not helping with the case. He had a date, though, and he can't put everything in his own life on hold. But the Sherlock was his life now, too. 

Sherlock got up and moved to stand outside John’s bedroom door. He hadn’t been able to wish or even think his feelings away. So he’d decided to do something about it. He knocked lightly on the door.

John turned, surprised. "Come in," he said, shifting to sit up. 

“Could we talk for a few more minutes?” Sherlock said, stepping in and standing at the door awkwardly.

"Yeah, are you okay?" he asked. 

“I think --” Sherlock started. “Maybe this was stupid,” he said instead, turning to leave.

"Don't go -- what is it you think?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

“Nothing’s wrong, maybe, I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “But things are different.”

"Come sit down," John said, shifting up a bit more. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock moved over and sat down on the edge of the bed, but then he was faced away from John. So he shifted a little and moved to sit next to him, but not too close. “Things are different . . . between us, I think,” he said softly.

"What do you mean?" John asked. "I can still help with cases."

“I know you say that, but it will be different -- you might not be around when I need you.”

"I . . . so what? I want to help," John said. "Do you mean you're firing me? I can't help with cases anymore?"

“That’s not what I want,” Sherlock said. “I want you to . . . be around all the time.”

"What do you mean?" John asked. "I live here."

“But you weren’t around tonight . . .”

John's brows furrowed. "I was on a date," he said. "Just for a couple hours. And I had my phone and you could’ve called if you needed anything."

“It’s just -- that’s not what I want. I just want you to be here. That’s all I’m trying to say. But now you’ll be at work and out doing other things,” Sherlock said. He didn’t feel like he was making himself clear, but he couldn’t think how else to say it. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I think I’ll do a little more work now,” he said as he made a move to get up from the bed.

John reached out and touched his arm to stop him. "Hold on. You know if you call, I'll be right here," he said. “Now stop fretting -- of course you’ll solve this case because you solve everything, right?”

Sherlock stopped. There was something both comforting and confusing about John’s touch. “Right. Thanks,” he said softly, smiling in the darkness. He left, shutting John’s door behind. He made himself a cup of tea and moved to his desk. If he could sort the case, maybe he could stop thinking about John so much.


	5. Sherlock's Bad Luck

John woke up the next morning and looked to where Sherlock had been sitting the night before. He wasn’t sure that was all about. He stretched and got up, making his way downstairs. He wondered if Sherlock had got any sleep the night before after their talk. 

Sherlock looked up from his desk to see John and then quickly glanced at the window, noticing it was now light outside. “Morning,” he said and stretched in his chair. 

"Did you go to bed at all?" John asked, flipping on the kettle and leaning against the counter to wait. 

“No, I rested when you were out, though, so don’t nag,” Sherlock said. 

"I was only curious. How's it going over there?"

Sherlock got up to join John in the kitchen. His legs felt a little wobbly from being at the desk for so long. Last night when John was out, Sherlock had wanted to talk this through with him in an attempt to find something. In truth now, though, after so many more hours of fruitless research, he felt even more defeated. 

“I don’t feel I’ve learned anything, if I’m honest,” he said. “How can there be so little information about a man as rich as that gallery owner? I’ve searched everything. I can’t find any family, education or employment history . . . the few times his name comes up it’s only in reference to the gallery. I don’t know what to make of it.” 

"Hmm. He sounds like a ghost," John said, turning to pour his tea. 

“Tea, please,” Sherlock said, grabbing his mug and sliding it to John. “You think he’s a phantom then? That’s what you’ve got to offer me?”

John shrugged. "You're the detective," he grinned.

“To be a ghost he’d have to have died. It may surprise you to find out that I -- a detective -- had already considered that option. No obituary, no record of death,” Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea. “Maybe all this is stupid, John . . . maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m just desperate . . .” 

John glanced over and saw the look on Sherlock’s face. “You’ll figure it out,” he said. He took a sip of tea. "I mean, do you have to be dead to be a ghost?" he said. 

Sherlock looked up. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” he said. "I mean, maybe . . . I don't know . . ."

Sherlock set his mug down. His brain suddenly felt very awake. “You mean -- he never existed? A name not a man?” he asked.

"Um, yeah. Does that sound plausible? I'm still half asleep, I think," John said.

“Created by whom though?” Sherlock asked. He finished his mug quickly and moved back to his desk. He was awake and confident again. He had been right that this was bigger than just insurance fraud and John had been right that Sherlock could solve this. He would. 

John started looking around the kitchen for some edible. He watched Sherlock at the computer as he ate breakfast. When he finished and Sherlock was still lost in his work, John got dressed and headed out to do some shopping. He took his time so Sherlock could work in peace. When he was done with all of the food he picked up a lottery ticket on a whim. Maybe he would get lucky again. He hailed a cab and got all of the groceries back to the flat. "I'm back," he called, starting to put everything away. 

Sherlock looked up. “Where did you go?” he asked before realising the answer was obvious. “I’ve eliminated everyone connected to the gallery, John -- there’s only one person left to question.”

"I knew you'd get it," he said. 

“You were right,” Sherlock said.

"About what?" John asked.

“About how clever I am.”

John laughed. "Oh, that's all?"

“You were also right that the owner doesn’t exist. He wasn’t created by anyone at the gallery, though.”

"So who’s behind it all?"

“That I don’t know . . . yet,” Sherlock said. “But I know who can tell me.”

"Are we going out?" John asked.

“My brother knows, I know he does,” Sherlock said. “I’ve called him. He’s got an hour to get back to me before I go chasing him.”

"Great, you can help me put the groceries away," John said.

Sherlock stood up. “Do I have to do everything around here?” he complained, smiling a little. Even though he didn’t have all the pieces to the case, he knew it wouldn’t be long until he did, and that relief had lightened his tension.

John rolled his eyes and moved around the kitchen. 

Sherlock said, “I’ll put the kettle on.” He did and then sat down and watched John work.

"That's not helping," he told Sherlock over his shoulder.

“It’s a different kind of helping,” Sherlock said, giving him a stupid smile.

John grinned and rolled his eyes again. When everything was put away he stretched and went to take a shower. He needed to start getting ready. 

Sherlock stood up and washed their mugs. Then his phone rang. He grabbed it and quickly moved to his desk.

“This had better be important,” his brother said.

“It is,” Sherlock answered. “Could you tell me . . . am I speaking to Mr Charles Altamont?”

Mycroft sighed. “Have you shared any information with the police yet?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “But answer the question. I presume all of this was a wild goose chase, but I have no idea for what purpose.”

“The theft was real,” Mycroft said. “I’m afraid it was all a bit of a misunderstanding. There is no Charles Altamont.”

“That much we figured out,” Sherlock said.

“We?”

“John and I,” Sherlock explained. “You’re behind all this, though. Am I correct on that?”

“Not precisely,” Mycroft said. 

“You mean, yes, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “But not precisely. You could say the gallery is an extension of my office.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

“I don’t think those details are pertinent at the moment,” his brother said.

“Why didn’t you tell me when I contacted you before?”

“Because you wanted something to work on,” Mycroft said. “And I wanted to see how well you worked. Since you’ve gained your new ‘partner’ I’ve been worried you’d be distracted. Yes, I know you’ve done a few private clients, but I’ve yet to see anything . . . serious, shall we say? Exposing adulterers may be useful to the public, but if you’re going to be useful to me, I need to know your intentions as well as your skills.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, are you motivated by money, by acclaim? Those intentions do not belong in my line of work,” Mycroft said.

“You know me,” Sherlock said. 

“But I do not know your new ‘partner,’” Mycroft said.

“Stop saying it like that,” Sherlock said. “What do you mean I could be ‘useful’ to you?”

“On occasion, I may need a mind like yours,” Mycroft said. “Not this time, obviously, but in the future.”

“So this was all just for you?” Sherlock said. “I’ve wasted my time for nothing?”

“Let’s make it worth your while then,” Mycroft said. “I’ll have Mr Altamont contact the police to clarify that Sherlock Holmes efficiently found and returned the painting. As it was his drunken uncle who took the painting, though, does not want to press charges. However, he thoroughly recommends the police consult Sherlock Holmes for future work.”

“Do the police know the truth about the gallery?”

“They do not,” Mycroft said. “And there’s no reason they need to, is there?”

Sherlock thought for a moment. It hadn’t been an actual case really, but impressing his brother was bound to have benefits (even though Sherlock would never admit that to anyone). “So that’s it?” he asked.

“Yes, the overly eager employee who contacted the police before contacting Mr Altamont will eventually be relieved of her position, but yes, that’s it. You’ve solved the case. I’ll be in touch when you are required.”

Mycroft rang off before Sherlock could thank him though both brothers knew that wasn’t going to really happen. Sherlock decided he was pleased. It hadn’t been what he’d expected, but he’d found the answer and only good could come from it.

John finished up and went to his room to get dressed for his date. He put his wallet in his back pocket and grabbed his jacket before coming down again. 

“Good,” Sherlock said, looking up at John. “You’re ready. Let me go change while you decide where you want to go.” He stood up from his desk to head into his room.

"What? Ready for what?" John asked. 

“Dinner,” Sherlock said. “The case has been solved. I’m treating you to dinner.”

"Oh. I . . . well, I have a date," he said carefully. 

Sherlock stopped. “What? Why? You just had a date last night,” he said.

"It was fun, we made plans to go out again," he said. 

“It wasn’t fun,” Sherlock said stupidly. “What about the case?”

"I thought you said you’d solved it? We can celebrate tomorrow," he said. "I'll treat."

“But --” Sherlock felt confused for a minute. “I don’t want to go tomorrow. I’ve been working all week on this -- you helped -- let’s go out tonight.”

"I can't cancel, it’s rude," John said. 

“Well, you’re being rude to me right now,” Sherlock said. “I thought you care about the cases. I thought you like working together.”

"I do like working together! But I already had these plans, Sherlock. I'm trying to make plans with you, too."

“This is part of working together . . .,” Sherlock started then stopped. “Don’t bother pretending -- obviously you care more about dating than working.”

"Yeah, well dating is fun and working is work," he said. 

“But I thought . . .” Sherlock said, now genuinely hurt. “Fine, that’s fine. Go out. I don’t feel like being around someone who is behaving like an idiot.” His voice sounded meaner than he wanted it to. “I’m bored with this conversation.” He flopped onto the sofa and tried to go away into his head.

John's brows furrowed. "Fine. Don't wait up for me. Maybe I'll make plans for tomorrow too since you want to be an arse about it." He walked out of the flat and slammed the door behind him, so upset that he didn't bother with a cab as he stormed off.


	6. Sherlock Finds His Answer

Sherlock humphed on the sofa. He waited for a few minutes, hoping John would come back, but he didn’t. He dragged himself up and went into the bathroom and turned on the bath. He stripped off and then got in to the hot water. He rubbed his hands over his face and then sunk underneath. The noise from the pouring water filled his head. Eventually he pushed himself up. 

He thought about the conversation they’d had in John’s bedroom last night. Obviously, John had not understood what Sherlock was trying to tell him. He thought for a few moments. What precisely had he been trying to tell John? Now he needed to solve this one.

John eventually got a cab and met his date. He tried to forget about the conversation with Sherlock, but his mood was sour as they went into the restaurant and sat down. It took a lot of effort to stay focused on her and the conversation they were having at the moment. 

By the time the bath water had cooled, Sherlock felt clear on everything that had been confusing him about John -- from the moment they’d met until tonight’s little explosion. He got himself dried and dressed and went out to the kitchen. He poured himself a small glass of wine, sat down on the sofa and took a deep breath.

John could tell this date wasn't going as well as the first, and he knew it was his fault. He couldn't get into the mood -- he was frustrated and angry with Sherlock. Why did he have to be so difficult? He felt his phone vibrate and for a minute tried to ignore it. But he couldn't stop thinking about that either, so he pulled it out to look.

_There’s a new case. I need your help. Please come home. SH_

_What new case? -JW_

_I’ll explain when you get home. SH_

"What's going on?"

John looked up at his date. "I'm sorry. Something has come up. I have to go."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm sorry. It's a work thing. Not the clinic but something else."

"Well . . . can we reschedule?" 

John put money on the table. "Yes, I'll call you." He hurried out of the restaurant and hailed a cab.

_Better be a hell of a case. -JW_

Sherlock set his phone on the table and took a few more deep breaths. He had absolutely no idea how this was going to go, but he wasn’t going to turn back now.

John looked out of the window as the cab headed back to the flat. He knew there wasn't a case. Sherlock was just being a baby, but he couldn't explain why he was going home. His mind drifted to the conversation in his room. Did it have something to do with that? But that had been about work -- this was about his social life. Those two things were separate.

Unless Sherlock didn't want them to be. But that was a wild assumption to make. He paid the driver and headed up to the flat.

Sherlock handed John a cup of tea. “Thank you for coming home,” he said and sat down. He waited for John to do the same.

“There’s a new case, John,” Sherlock continued, his voice sounding more confident than he really felt. “I’ve had some information for a while, but the details of it became clear while you were out. It’s the case of a solitary man. Had some troubles, not a lot of friends, but overall high functioning. However, recently he took on a flatmate and his life has changed. They’ve become friends, I suppose, but the man is struggling because just living together and working together . . . it’s not really what he wants. He wants something else, more. It took him a while to understand it, but now he can’t seem to find the words to explain it to the flatmate.” He paused for just a moment and added, “Do you think we can help him? Should we take the case?”

John watched Sherlock as he spoke and suddenly things seemed a little more clear -- especially the conversation in his room the other night. Maybe the assumption wasn't so wild after all. "I think we can," he said slowly. 

“The case is me, John -- just to be clear,” Sherlock said. “Are you sure?”

"Yeah, I got that," John said with a small smile. "I still think we can help."

A wave of relief came over Sherlock. “Good,” he said. He picked up his wine glass and finished it off. “Would you like a glass?” he asked, getting up. 

"Sure," John said. He didn't know what else to say just yet. He still wasn't really sure what was going on and what Sherlock was saying to him.

Sherlock returned with two glasses and handed one to John. He sat back down in his chair. “I appear to have feelings for you, John Watson,” he said. “That’s most unexpected, don’t you think?”

"That is unexpected," John said. He took a sip of wine. 

“Yes, well, it took me a little time to understand precisely what was happening,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. “Obviously you were interesting to me -- which is why I invited you to move in here, but in a relatively short time, these feelings have intensified, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do about the revelation.”

"I don't think harassing me was the best idea," John said, but realized Sherlock might not catch on that he was half teasing. "It seems like you didn't need much help saying what you wanted to say."

“Now, maybe, but I tried to say it last night, and you seem not to have completely grasped my point.”

"You didn't mention anything like this last night," he said. 

“I said I wanted to be around you all the time,” Sherlock said. “Or perhaps that’s something you hear from everyone, so you did not appreciate what it meant.”

"Well, no, but that doesn't really explain why," John said. 

Sherlock took a sip of wine. “You can tell I’m uncomfortable with all this -- do you really need me to explicit?” he asked.

"Well, I just didn't realise that being around me all the time translated to having feelings for me," he said. "I didn't know you were interested in that sort of thing," he said. 

“Of course, that’s what it meant,” Sherlock said. “You’ve met me -- in general I do not like being around anyone. But I want to be around you -- all the time. I want all your attention.” He took another sip of wine. “And your affection. I like it. I want that all the time. I know my reputation, John, but time, attention, and affection -- surely it’s obvious feelings are motivating those desires.”

"Not so obvious," John said. “You don’t want me to go out on dates anymore?”

“I don’t,” Sherlock said. “I don’t want you to think of anyone else like that.”

“You want me to think of you . . . like that?” John asked. 

“Correct.”

“Does that mean you think about me like that?”

Sherlock looked over and met John’s eyes. “Yes, John, I do,” he said.

John smiled. “I think I can handle that,” he said.

“What about the times you’ve been angry with me, though?” Sherlock asked. “You get annoyed sometimes, I know you do -- will that annoyance go away just because you know feelings are involved?”

"I am sure we're both going to keep getting annoyed with each other, that's life," John said. "It’s normal. But I think we can handle it. We have so far," he said. 

“I am actually relieved to hear that,” Sherlock said, getting up and moving to the sofa next to John. “Because I intend to keep getting annoyed at you when you do annoying thing,” he added with a small smile as he took another sip of wine.

"Me too," John said. He turned a bit to face Sherlock properly.

“Fair enough,” Sherlock said. “Quick question just for clarity -- you’re saying you won’t be going on stupid dates anymore with boring strangers? You’re sure about that?”

"Yes," John said. “I think you’re why my dates don’t end up working.”

“Good,” Sherlock said. “I don’t plan to go out with anyone else either.”

John laughed, not really being able to imagine Sherlock out on a proper date with someone. "Good,” he said. “I wouldn't want to get jealous.”

“Are you the jealous type?” Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," he said. 

“I was jealous,” Sherlock said.

“I understand that now.”

Sherlock sighed and looked over at John. “This is . . . different -- all this kind of talk,” he said, almost dreamily. “You’ve brought so many changes, John Watson.”

"What else do you think will be different now?" John asked, shifting to get more comfortable but using the move to get a little closer. 

“Probably . . . touching,” Sherlock said, letting his hand rest on John’s thigh.

John leaned even closer, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's. He licked his lips lightly and felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile when Sherlock glanced at them. "What else?"

"Kissing?" Sherlock asked, leaning in as well.

"Kissing," John nodded. "Good idea." He closed the space between them and kissed Sherlock's mouth lightly. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of John’s lips on his. Yes, this is what he’d wanted. They’d never done it before yet it felt familiar and comforting and good. He pulled his head back and said, “I liked that. Did you?”

"I did like that," John said. He kissed Sherlock again, harder this time. 

Sherlock turned his body, lifting a hand to the side of John’s head. He felt his fingers in John’s hair as he pulled their faces closer. His heartbeat quickened and he wanted to get his body even closer. John pulled away from his mouth to kiss along Sherlock's jaw and down to his neck. He nipped the skin lightly, licking those spots.

“John,” Sherlock said quietly. “That feels good.” He shifted his body on the sofa, leaning in against John, almost pushing him backward.

John resisted and instead pushed Sherlock back, climbing on top of him a bit as he continued exploring with his mouth. Sherlock's skin was warm and soft, a pleasant surprise from all his sharp angles. The weight of John on his body felt good to Sherlock. He slid his arms around his back and leaned up into the kiss, making it more urgent. His hands moved over John’s muscles before sliding down to grip his hips. He moved his legs, lifting one over John’s. He tried to reach around between their bodies, but then exhaled. “There’s not enough room here,” he said.

John met Sherlock's gaze and knew they were thinking the same thing. "Yours or mine?" he asked. 

“Yours is closest,” Sherlock said, pushing on John’s shoulders and then eagerly sitting up.

John stood up and tugged Sherlock towards his room.


	7. Getting Lucky

Sherlock fell onto John’s bed, pulling him down on top of him. He kissed his mouth hungrily. He hadn’t thought a lot about this part of being together -- mostly he’d just been hoping to be around John all the time -- but this all felt so good, so urgent.

John returned the kiss eagerly, his body moving rhythmically over Sherlock's.

“Can I take off my clothes?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "God yes," he said, moving back a bit to watch. 

Sherlock pushed John off him and then sat up. He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it onto the floor. He started taking off his trousers. “Are you going to as well?” he asked.

John nodded. "I just wanted to see you -- to admire you," he smiled. 

“But I want to touch you,” Sherlock said, throwing his trousers on to the floor as well. Once John’s shirt was off, he ran his hands up and down John’s chest. 

John watched Sherlock's hands for a moment before switching to watching his face instead. He was flushed and fascinated. John leaned in and kissed him again, his own fingers tangled in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock melted into the kiss, dropping back against the bed and squeezing his arms around John to hold him close. After a few minutes, he turned their bodies so they were lying side by side. He reached round and held John’s cock softly before beginning a slow stroke. 

“Does this feel good?” he asked.

"It’s good," John mumbled.

“I want to make you feel good,” Sherlock said, his hand picking up a little speed. “I want you to come to me when you want to feel good.”

John shifted to turn so he could touch Sherlock as well, his hand matching Sherlock. "You too," he said, kissing him again. 

“You do make me feel good, John,” Sherlock mumbled between kisses. “You have since you moved in here and now you are in this way, too.” He turned his attention to John’s cock again. “Is this how you like it?” he asked, looking down to watch their hands moving. 

John moaned softly as his answer.

“What else do you like?”

"Different things," he said. "What do you like?"

“I will like everything with you,” Sherlock said.

"So what do you want to try?" John asked, wondering for the first time if Sherlock had tried anything before. 

“Anything, everything,” Sherlock said. “Whatever you want.”

It didn't answer John's curiosity, but he kissed Sherlock again and made to move lower, kissing his way down Sherlock's neck to his chest.

 

Sherlock hummed with approval, but the shift in position meant he could no longer reach John’s cock. Instead he gripped John’s shoulder, kneading the muscle with his long fingers. John kept going, licking and softly blowing air on his nipple. The sound Sherlock made had John smiling as he moved down lower. When Sherlock realised what John was doing and his body filled with tension in anticipation. He dropped his head to watch as John moved down his body. John used his hand first, stroking Sherlock before slowly taking him into his mouth. 

“God, John,” Sherlock moaned. He pushed his head against the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. His hand moved from John’s shoulder to cover his face as his breath started to catch in his throat. He forced himself to take one deep breath to try to relax himself, so he could enjoy the sensation. His hips rocked gently against John, though he kept his focus on his breathing so the pleasure wouldn’t overtake him. When he got too close, he reached down to touch John’s face. 

“Please,” he whispered. “It’s too good but I don’t want this to end.”

John pulled off slowly and climbed back up his body. "Did you like that?" he asked. 

“It was incredible,” Sherlock said, kissing John’s mouth roughly. “What can we do now to make you feel as good?”

John still didn't know what Sherlock had tried before. He reached over to his drawer and took out a small bottle and a condom. 

Sherlock’s curiosity was piqued. He picked up the bottle and looked at its ingredients. “Are you sure?” he asked.

"If you want to," John said. 

Sherlock shifted on the bed, pushing John back and moving between his legs. “You’re so sexy,” he said, looking down at John’s body. “I can’t wait to be inside you,” he added, dribbling some lube into his hand. He stroked John’s cock a few times and then dipped his hand lower, teasingly passing his finger over John’s hole.

"You...oh," he breathed, squirming in pleasure. He was surprised, but it was clear that Sherlock knew what he was doing.

Sherlock slowly pushed a finger inside John. It was so intimate, being inside him like this. Since John had moved in, they’d shared so much, but this -- and what was going to happen -- was the most intimate thing they could share and the thought was almost too much.

John tried to keep still. "Sherlock . . . God," he moaned.

“Does it feel good, John?” Sherlock asked, now starting to pulse his finger. “Do you like it? I want you to love it.” When his finger moved more easily he added a second one, watching John’s face. 

“I do,” John nodded, blinking his eyes open to look up at Sherlock. He looked very sure of himself, a bit smug even. It was beautiful.

“I like it,” Sherlock said, his voice low as he watched his hand moving. He reached his other one up to stroke John’s cock as well. A noise, almost like a deep growl, escaped from his throat.

The sound made John's whole body shiver, heat blooming through every nerve. He started moving on Sherlock's hand for more. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock replaced his hand on John’s cock with John’s. “Keep going,” he said. He slid his fingers from John’s body and stroked himself a few times. Then he spilled more lube over John, reached for a condom and slid it on. He shifted his body a little, leaning over John. “Ready?” he asked, looking down at John’s face.

John nodded quickly, his hand stroking faster. "I want you," he murmured.

Sherlock lined up and slowly pushed inside. “God, John,” he moaned. He dropped his head and kissed John’s mouth. “You okay?” he whispered.

"Yes," John breathed. "You feel so good."

“You do, John,” Sherlock whispered as he began to move his hips. “It’s you . . .”

John leaned up to kiss him, moving his own body to match Sherlock's. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, letting the pleasure fill his entire body. Then he opened his eyes again -- he wanted to see John, know that this pleasure was about him, about them together. Finally.

John stared up at him, holding his gaze as they moved together. Sherlock kissed John again and then let his body go. His hips pushed against John’s body, and his pulse pounded so loudly he could hardly hear anything else. “I’m going to come, John,” he moaned and then he let go, buried in John. 

John bucked up against Sherlock, watching his face as his hand sped up. Soon, he followed Sherlock, coming between them as Sherlock's name spilled from his mouth.

Sherlock tried to collect himself, pulling out and getting rid of the condom. He took a long deep breath, looked over at John, and then curled around his body and squeezed him. He reached for John's hand and held it on John's chest. "Is this how you want us to be now?" he asked softly.

John nodded. "Do you?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "But I want you to want it too."

"I do. I want you to be with me. All the time," John said. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "Good," he repeated. They lay quietly for a few minutes as they caught their breaths and calmed their bodies. 

Finally, Sherlock asked, “Can I sleep in here?”

John nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that," he said. 

“Good,” Sherlock said again. He pushed himself up on the bed and stretched a little. “But I need something to drink first.” He reached round the floor for his trousers, slid them on and got up to go down to the kitchen.

John pulled his laptop up while he waited for Sherlock to come back. There was no email from the surgery, but he suddenly remembered he’d bought that other ticket at the shop. He reached down for his trousers and got the slip out of his pocket, checking the numbers online. He grinned when he saw he’d won a hundred pounds. "Oh Sherlock!" he called. 

A minute later Sherlock came through the door with two glasses of water. “I’m here -- don’t nag,” he teased as he set one drink down on the table by John and then tried to balance his own as he climbed over John and his computer.

"Guess what?" John asked, helping him settle into bed again without spilling anything.

“What?” Sherlock said, trying to tangle his legs with John’s.

John put the computer down and held up the ticket. "I won again." He grinned.

“Won what?”

John waved the ticket at Sherlock. "A hundred pounds."

“Oh my god,” Sherlock laughed. “Are you still going on about that? Mrs Hudson’s nonsense has gone to your head. Do you really believe you are magic?” He reached over and lightly pinched John’s side.

"I don't know, Sherlock, this is the second time tonight I've gotten lucky," he grinned. 

Sherlock laughed aloud and rolled on top of John. “Cheeky,” he said, putting a wet kiss on John’s mouth. “At least now I finally get the benefit.”

"Why? Because you get lucky too?" he asked, smiling up at him. 

“Exactly,” Sherlock said and rolled them both over so John was on top of him. “And from now on, we can get lucky every day if we’d like,” he added, wrapping his legs around John’s.

"Twice a day, if we really wanted," John said, his fingers tracing circles on Sherlock's chest. 

“Right now?” Sherlock ask, lifting his hips a little.

John smiled wider, rolling his own hips to grind against Sherlock. "Definitely,” he said.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s body and kissed his mouth. Tonight everything was different, but he also knew that everything was how it should be.


End file.
